


your english is good

by uro_boros



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Nyotalia, this might become a series because every author needs a cafe au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uro_boros/pseuds/uro_boros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writer's block, coffee, and a certain type of cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your english is good

"Let me guess," the barista says, startling him out of whatever far away place his mind had drifted to. "You're an aspiring writer?"

Ivan stares, not at her, but the area around him, his little table piled high with notebooks, pieces of scrap paper filled with late night ideas and important plot points, and at the blank Word document opened on his laptop, the cursor blinking as a cruel reminder: you can't write, it seems to spell out in its own version of Morse code to him. You great big hack, it adds.

Ivan might be projecting, somewhat.

"I--yes, something like that," he agrees, taking the steaming cup of tea from her hands. "Thank you."

But the barista doesn't leave as they normally do--her name tag reads Amelia, the name written in pink sharpie with a few superfluous swirls attached to the ends of the letters. "Mm," she hums instead, fingers tapping at her chin in exaggerated fashion as she considers something. "Writer's block?"

"Something like that," Ivan repeats, smiling slightly at her.

The girl nods, her blonde ponytail bobbing along with her head. She really is a girl, Ivan can see now, her nails coated in chipped polish, ears pierced up and down. She can't be older than twenty, maybe even slightly younger. He feels keenly his own wrinkles then, starting to settle deep at the corner of his eyes. 

"It happens," Amelia tells him, soothing. "You just can't let it get to you. Gotta keep working and all that, and something will eventually pop out. It's like constipation--" and her cheeks color at that, her hand rising to her mouth. "Oh my god," she says, and then, "I'm so sorry, I don't think about the things I'm saying, that was so gross--"

"It's okay," Ivan interrupts her with a laugh. "It is a little like that, I suppose. Word constipation? Writer's block is a nicer term, I think."

"No, it totally is, and wow, I should go back to work before I make myself out to be an even bigger idiot in front of you, I'm so sorry, sir," she says in a rush, feet already backpedaling.

"W-wait, please!" She stops. "My name is Ivan, it was nice meeting you." And he smiles--he wonders if she notices the crow's feet around his eyes with the gesture, the wrinkles starting at the corner of his lips. He wonders if she cares. He hopes she doesn't, and thinks that maybe he can be a little foolish, just this once.

"Ivan," she says, and her lips curl around the sound until she's beaming. "It was nice meeting you, too." 

"Do you work tomorrow?" he asks.

If anything her smile grows, as she bobs her head. "I do," is all she says, turning around to walk back to the counter, a new spring in her step.

Ivan watches her go, before turning back to his computer. The cursor blinks the same as before under his gaze, but this time he has inspiration as he begins to type, the keys clicking under his fingers.

He has all the inspiration in the world.


End file.
